Mind Games
by Blue Lightnin
Summary: One take on how the (in)famous "Jedi Mind Trick" is passed from Master to Apprentice.


Title: Mind Games  
Author: Blue Lightnin'  
Category: Humor  
Rating: G  
Feedback: beegoba@yahoo.com  
Archive: Anywhere.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story. I'm making no money. Don't bother me.  
Summary: One take on how the famous "Jedi Mind Trick" is passed from Master to Apprentice.  
Note: //'s indicate telepathy.  
  
  
  
  
"Master...are you sure this is a good idea?"  
  
Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up at Qui-Gon Jinn, an anxious expression on his fourteen year old face. The older man's response was to smile and lay what he meant to be a reasurring hand on the youth's shoulder. Obi-Wan, however, did not feel much assured.  
  
On any other day, the small Coruscant market place where the pair now stood wouldn't seem so foreboding. But, then again, on most days Obi-Wan was not required by his Master to practice techniques of dubious moral standing on innocent civilians. He'd always wondered how one learned to use the Force to manipulate the minds of sentient beings; somehow he hadn't expected just going out on the streets to use it on random passers-by. Wasn't there a less devious way?  
  
"How about that one over there?" Qui-Gon pointed to a young Ithorian male, quite possibly a tourist, who was sitting peacefully by a fountain some twenty yards away, no idea in his head of what lay in store for him.  
  
"Master, this *must* be against the Code."  
  
Jinn stared down at his apprentice, expressionless. "Perhaps it is."  
  
"Is this how everyone learns it?"  
  
Qui-Gon shrugged. "If they learn it at all. Now...are we going to chatter away the afternoon, or are you actually going to try to acquire some new skills?"  
  
"What do I do, Master? Just wave my hand in his face?"  
  
"You've seen me do it many a time," Qui-Gon answered, the slightest hint of irritation seeping into his voice. "First of all, you can ask him to do something normally. Then, when he doesn't comply, manipulate him. Don't be afraid to make mistakes. You probably won't get it correct the first time round. And," he added to finalize his teachings, "be mindful of the Living Force."  
  
Obi-Wan didn't bother to surpress a theatrical sigh as he made his way to the fountain, but he put his emotions into place as soon as he got close to the Ithorian test subject. When the other became aware his presence, the young Jedi said the first thing that popped into his mind.  
  
"Give me your credit chip." He expected that the other would just act confused.  
  
After a very quick glance at Obi-Wan's belt, the Ithorian pulled out his small chip and held it in front of him, spindly arm quivering slightly. "All I have, sire Jedi."  
  
For crying out loud! Obi-Wan whirled around, and stalked back to where his   
master was calmly waiting.  
  
"This is absurd! Everyone is going to obey me. I'm Jedi, and this is Coruscant. Master, who in their right mind is going to go against a Jedi Knight on Coruscant?"  
  
Qui-Gon stroked his chin thoughtfully. "You'd be surprised. I'm a bit surprised he even recognized you as Jedi so quickly." The Master's eyes rested upon the boy's belt. "You should hide your weapon more carefully in public."  
  
Obi-Wan blushed and pulled his brown cloak more tightly around his body, grumbling. "The only times you ever use this trick is when we're in some distant star system light years away from the Core, where people have scarcely heard of the Jedi, let alone respect them. I beseech you, Master, can't this exercise wait for another day?"  
  
"Must you question everything I try to teach you?" Qui-Gon queried, normally abundant patience draining.   
  
The apprentice wiggled his toes restlessly inside his boots. "I apologize, Master."  
  
"It is true that arguing indicates an active mind," conceded the older Jedi. "But, if there are no more objections(he stressed the word) I'd like to get on with my lesson. It would be nice if we could make it back to the Temple in time for dinner; do you not agree?"  
  
"Yes, Master," said the youth, his eyes lighting up at the mention of dinner.  
  
"Very well. Now, Obi-Wan, use your head. Look at that fellow over there." He gestured toward a small booth adjacent to the fountain, where an angry looking Drall shopkeeper was barking orders at someone or something out of view. "He's clearly not in a good mood, and I'll bet he won't give you a discount just because you are a Jedi Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan studied the vendor for a few moments. "Perhaps," he said, looking up at his mentor. "Perhaps you could do it once...just to demonstrate for me how it's done."  
  
Jinn smiled wryly down at the boy. "Perhaps you should have been more attentive on Saretia-Iol. I demonstrated the technique many, many times, if you don't remember. Or were you too distracted by the Sultan's serving girls?"   
  
Obi-Wan felt himself blush. His master had a wicked sense of humor, one the apprentice admired but was nonetheless chagrined by at times. Like now.  
  
"I suppose that's a no, then," he said. The boy summoned all his courage and proceeded to make his way to the Dralls little booth.  
  
"...of all the inconsiderate things for Desdef to say, that was what really got me," Obi-Wan heard the black-furred creature squawk as he approached. When he got to the counter, the youth leaned over the edge, watching curiously as the Drall rummaged through an overturned box, all the while chattering to his companion, a little droid, who didn't seem to be very busy at all.  
  
"Have people no manners anymore, Emfour?"  
  
The black droid did not answer, but swiveled it's head, spying Obi-Wan with it's single yellow "eye."  
  
"It appears you have a customer, Marshar," it said in a tinny voice.  
  
"Do I?" The Drall did not sound particularly impressed. He backed out of the box, clutching several bottles in his short arms. "Well, what do you want?"  
  
"You won't get any business at all if you talk to customers like that," said Obi-Wan easily, biding his time.  
  
"I have told Marshar this," remarked the droid, Emfour. "Marshar does not listen."  
  
"I get plenty of business!" exclaimed the vendor , outrage nearly causing him to drop his bottles. "Why, just last week the Duchess of New Sorvik requested an order for fifty cases of my sauce. Fifty! And the most expensive kind at that!"  
  
"Sauce?" repeated the Jedi, frowning.  
  
"Yes. Sauce! I sell sauce." Marshar waved his paw around, gesturing to all the shiny bottles on the counter, and behind it on shelves. "What are you, an imbecile?"  
  
"I assure you, sir, that I am not," said Obi-Wan, managing to sound pleasant. Thank the Force for years of etiquette training.  
  
The Drall did not seem convinced. "Humph! Now are you going to buy anything, or are you going to stand around my shop all day, staring at me with your googly human eyes?"  
  
Obi-Wan reached for a random bottle and held it up. "I would like to purchase this, please."  
  
"It will burn your pitiful human taste buds off, but all right." said Marshar, snatching the bottle from the boy, and giving its label a quick look. "Twenty credits."  
  
Here came the hard part.  
  
"Ten credits should be sufficient ," said Obi-Wan, gesturing with his hand and cringing at how much he sounded like his Master.  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Marshar looked at the Padawan as if he had just been told where he could stick his bottles of sauce.  
  
Uh oh...  
  
Obi-Wan waved his hand in front of the Dralls face, concentrating as hard as he could while he spoke. "You WILL only charge me ten credits."  
  
"Of all the insane....absolutely crazy things...!" Sputtered Marshar, nearly frozen with horrified indignation.  
  
"It is a Jedi," commented Emfour, swiveling its eye from human to Drall. "It is trying to trick you, Marshar."  
  
"I know that, you metal buffoon!" shouted the creature, wringing his paws in frustration. "Good lord, what has the universe come to? Young hooligan Jedi trying to cheat honest shop keepers out of honest livings. Mercy, mercy!"  
  
The young apprentice did not bother to explain, but wearily turned around from the sauce booth and back to where his Master stood, once again calmly waiting.  
  
"That was something of an unpleasant experience."  
  
"I imagined it would be," said the older Jedi, looking slightly amused.  
  
Obi-Wan sighed wearily. "Shall I try another vendor, Master?"  
  
"No, I don't think so. We must straighten out this Drall situation first."  
  
The apprentice resisted the urge to roll his eyes, feeling that Marshar's mood must   
have rubbed off on him somehow. "Why?"  
  
"It looks as if you have caused our furry friend a great deal of perturbation. Apologies must be made, Padawan, for the sake of the Order."  
  
"Oh, so this is a publicity situation?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.  
  
Call it good manners." Qui-Gon had already began making his way to the sauce booth, apprentice reluctantly following.  
  
"Good day there sir," the Jedi Master called out as he confidently approached the little shop. Marshar, who had been grumbling to himself or perhaps his droid, stared up at the tall human irritably.  
  
"And who might you be?"  
  
Qui-Gon leaned on the counter so that the smaller creature did not have to strain his neck to make eye contact.  
  
"I am Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master." He reached out and grabbed the nearby Obi-Wan by the sleeve of his cloak, pulling him closer. "I understand my apprentice here has been causing you trouble."  
  
Oh no, thought Obi-Wan, groaning internally. Not another of his silly games. Qui-Gon was always insisting that playing with the minds of the public was necessary at times to put things in order, but the Padawan had always been of a more straightforward and, well, honest school of thought. There had to be a less devious way to solve problems!  
  
The Drall "humphed!" loudly, reminding Obi-Wan just a bit of Master Yoda in a bad mood. "He most certainly has been. Listen, Master Jinn, I have nothing but respect for the Jedi Order as a whole. It is a most honorable organization. But," he said, throwing Obi-Wan a sharp look, "that particular "Jedi" is in need of a good thrashing."  
  
The boy did all he could to keep himself from laughing. He turned his smiling face away from the glare Marshar was casting his way.  
  
"I shall keep that in mind," replied the Jedi Master, stone faced. Obi-Wan snorted with laughter and tried to disguise it with a cough.  
  
"My own dear wife's sister is a Jedi Knight," continued the Drall, an air of pride in his voice. "And I can assure you that she would never train such a impudent charlatan."  
  
"I'm sure she would not, sir," nodded Qui-Gon solemnly.  
  
The Drall made an odd grunting noise. "Anyway, I cannot stand around all day talking idly. There is work to be done."  
  
Jinn nodded again, then frowned as if a very interesting idea had entered his mind. "I'll tell you what," he said, studying a fiery red painted bottle carefully. "To make it up to you how my apprentice behaved I'll buy something--anything you pick."  
  
"Really?" Marshar looked genuinely surprised. "Well...there is this stuff from Utika. Fine, fine quality." Proudly, the creature held up a tiny container."  
  
"And how many credits is it, my friend?"  
  
"Well, it isn't cheap--but believe me, it's worth it."  
  
For sauce? thought Obi-Wan. He wondered what was so wonderful about food seasoning that made certain people pay top dollar for it. And what was so good that they could stand to buy it from surely little Dralls like Marshar here? Some mysteries of the Universe were destined to never be answered, even by Jedi.  
  
"One hundred credits," proclaimed the vendor.  
  
Qui-Gon Jinn waved his hand casually through the air. "I think fifty should be enough."  
  
//Master! What are you trying to do, show me up?// Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, sending the unspoken thought to the older Jedi.  
  
//Watch me carefully.//  
  
"Excuse me?" the Drall asked, jet black eyes narrowing. Obi-Wan could sense Qui-Gon's abrupt discomfort.  
  
"Fifty credits WILL be sufficient."  
  
Obi-Wan felt a little embarrassed for his Master, but only just a little. It was actually pretty funny.  
  
"It is trying to trick you, Marshar," commented the black droid in its monotone. "It is a mind trick."  
  
"I KNOW that!" screeched the Drall, slamming the sauce bottle on the counter top. Immediately, it shattered, and red flecks of its contents splattered all over the booth and on everyone present. There was an awkward, seething silence before Qui-Gon finally turned away, walking as fast as his legs could carry him from the booth and the marketplace in general. Obi-Wan had to jog to keep up with his Master's stride.  
  
"Where are we going?" he asked, not able to keep the grin off his face.  
  
"Home," came the blunt reply. He clearly did not find humor in the embarrassing incident.  
  
"Well," the apprentice said, "I wonder what that fellow thinks of the Order after your display. What happened Master?"  
  
"We shall discuss this later."  
  
"Are you embarrassed?"  
  
"I said we shall discuss this later, Padawan."  
  
Obi-Wan smiled to himself. He would have liked to tease some more, but his Master's terse voice caused him to think twice. Ah, well. He'd probably be able to laugh about it in a day. Or a week. Or a year. It was hard to tell with Qui-Gon. In any case, Obi-Wan would just have to be patient.  
  
  
  
FIN  
  



End file.
